


Children of The Fire

by Girl_with_a_Quill



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: (kinda), Clexa Halloween Week, Clextober, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Folklore, Forced Marriage, Historical References, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology - Freeform, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Short, Smut, Spooky, True Love, clextober18
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2019-05-25
Packaged: 2019-08-16 21:34:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16503113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Girl_with_a_Quill/pseuds/Girl_with_a_Quill
Summary: It's Halloween. A ball. And an ancient being walks among them.Or,Clarke and Lexa meet at a ball. When the life of one is in danger, the other makes an irresistible offer. But it comes at a high price. Will she accept?





	1. The old one

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoy it!! :)
> 
> (re-edited/re-posted as it wasn't originally beta'd. Ch.2 will also be posted in a few minutes)

                                                  

 

* * *

 

 

The new day bled a soft pink light into the cloudy skies, the rising sun barely slipping its warm, golden fingers over the horizon, as if lazily pulling itself over the edge with a yawn.

The air was thick with a cool but humid breeze, making the yellow and orange carpet of leaves dance and rustle softly below. The condensation on the windows knit little cobweb figures with every drop that languidly trickled over the glass. Fat drops of dew and last night’s light rain fell from the corner of the roof and pitter-pattered into a small puddle intermittently.

Somewhere in the small patch of woods behind the old rickety house, in a forgotten and odd bend of the city, an owl cooed to no one in particular. The family of crows that lived in the tree in front of the house shook out their feathers, making the twisted, leafless branches quiver beneath their clawed feet. A cat scurried away, back from its nightly hunt and padded up the stairs of the old carriage house.

The smell of roasting pumpkin wafted lightly from the still burning carved jack-o-lanterns on the porch. A lone figure was wrapped in a heavy, thick blanket, stood on the balcony above, watching the sunrise and inhaling the air, leaving small clouds of cold air every time she exhaled.

It wasn’t the pumpkins she was smelling, however. It was that scent of jasmine that seemed to have trickled into the city during the night, like honeyed mist making its way low on the ground and sneaking into every crevice, nook and cranny as it advanced. It was what had awakened her. That and the sound of horse hooves clopping on cobble stone.

It was absurd of course. There were no horses walking around in the city and no cobble stone roads anymore, not even here, in this old part of the town. She must have been still dreaming that part, but the scent lingered and only grew stronger by the hour. The sky rumbled with a storm that seemed to be gathering, filling the air with crackling anticipation and her stomach with a nervous rumble.

She went back inside, her steps making the old floor boards creak, already tired and dreading what awaited her that night.

 

* * *

 

The music blared a bit too loudly and the wretched scent bombs – the latest fad for parties exploding near the ceiling and releasing a mist of synthetic and probably cancer-inducing aromas of pumpkin spice and sickly-sweet cinnamon given the occasion –, was making her headache worse. It had begun that morning. She felt like her head, her skin, her whole body really, was being torn apart, and she felt goosebumps run down her spine thanks to the slight fever currently coursing through her.

She was miserable, but she had promised to be here. Wanted to be here in principle. Yet another charity gala to raise funds for her mother’s research. A Halloween masquerade ball this time, to be precise. Her eyes scanned the room until they landed on her mother and father. There they were, chatting happily with a few people in masks and hats, her father telling some story and charming the pants and hopefully wallets off of donors, while Abby laughed and looked at him adoringly.

She smiled looking at them. The truth was she was in awe of her mother. She had been the rock of their little family and she never ceased to be amazed by her resilience. Nearly all their savings and time had gone into treating her since she was born, and Abby never wavered, never gave up, begun research trials and studies one after the other, and was still at it.

Then Jake’s accident happened and instead of crumbling with despair, Abby persisted. Supported him and cheered him on with an iron will, unconditional love and an ever-present smile. Not even in the few fits of desperation and rage her father went through, did Abby waver. She saw him through his multiple surgeries and rehab, the amputation of one of his legs and the battle to recover from what they told him would be paralysis from the waist down. With the help of Sergeant Reyes, an injured marine vet that had taken over his physio, and two years of pain, tears and sweat, Jake had walked again.

He now wore his titanium prosthetic leg proudly on display, dressed in a track suit with a crooked sign that said ‘The Bionic Man’, smirking when people didn’t know about the old seventies TV series with Lindsey Wagner as the Bionic Woman, attempting to imitate the infamous sound effects when her bionic limbs were put to use and making everyone laugh as usual. Her mother was picture perfect in her own Queen Elizabeth I costume, though she was more of a superhero in her eyes. The one who never gave up and still worked herself to the bone to pay their medical debt bills, to continue her research and still found ways to raise money for those in need.

They had always told her she had inherited her strength and persistence from her mother, but she thought she wasn’t as strong as her. If Abby only knew of her plans, she would be hearth-broken.

 

She went to sit on a stool at the bar, feeling dizzy and deciding not to drink just yet or maybe at all. She’d stay for as long as she could and then would return to her old rickety house and curl her tired bones into her bed. She thought she felt the scent of jasmine again amid the heavy aroma bombs, but just for a second. She people-watched from her corner, hidden beneath the layers of her costume.

She had come dressed as a doctor, as absurd as that had seemed, considering the ball was of mostly doctors and medical professionals. She had procured a vintage set, so she could at least say she had tried. She wore a surgical cap, her hair in a small bun hidden by it. Scrubs and a white coat, an old stethoscope and one of those silly round reflectors on her forehead mounted on a thick band of worn leather around her head, completed her attire. And her surgical mask of course. What better excuse to wear one without worrying her mother? And with the amount of people and their germs in the room, it was better not to risk it. She had thermal clothing underneath her scrubs, a long-sleeve shirt and leggings, to keep the cold at bay and it also helped hide her body under so many loose layers.

A movement at the door of the ballroom caught her eye.

And that’s when she saw her.

The most beautiful creature she had ever seen in her entire life.

An angel. A vision. An exquisite living sculpture that would’ve made the great renaissance masters weep.

Her heart lurched violently in her chest, warmth spreading all over her body and pulsating deep in her belly, something that had not happened in what felt like years. She was pretty sure she had never felt more magnetically drawn by anyone in her life like she did now.

The woman that had entered was wearing a long, flowing black gown that made it seem like she was gliding across the floor. Thin straps held the gown on her delicate shoulders and put her gorgeous collarbones on display. She had never known collarbones could be so beguiling until now. A long graceful neck led to a perfectly sculpted jaw and high cheekbones, sinfully pouty lips, and big feline eyes that shimmered green. Her hair was loose and fell in brown silken waves, parted to one side, while her face was barely concealed with a masquerade ball mask tied around her head, made of thin curls of metal shaped as vines and intricate swirls that flared to one side and smaller ringlets falling on her cheeks like black tear drops.

The mysterious woman surveyed the room calmly as if searching for someone. For a moment, she cocked her head upwards. She could have sworn the woman had minutely flared her nostrils as if smelling something. It must have been only her imagination.

But inexplicably her heartbeat sped up and drummed in her ears. Her skin prickled with electricity, the music and all sound faded, and her mind felt like it was swimming. She was glad she was sitting, or she would’ve swayed and lost her footing.

The woman suddenly turned her head and their eyes met. Even from a distance, she could see a mix of shock, confusion, relief, and even joy shinning in her eyes, a small gasp having escaped her parted lips, though she seemed to be trying to conceal it behind a stoic façade. She started walking slowly in her direction, never tearing her eyes away.

The tightness in her chest and between her legs only worsened as she got nearer, especially when an impossibly long leg was bared with every step she took, thanks to a slit on her gown.

She gulped.

She couldn’t break from her gaze. She was hypnotized seeing her approaching. For a second, she thought she saw a crackling campfire behind her, but the moment she blinked it was gone, maybe an optical illusion or a play of lights from the beams above illuminating the dance floor.

Just a few feet away now, the woman narrowed her eyes and observed her, her head tilting to one side, like she was a puzzle she was trying to decipher, something akin to disbelief coloring her eyes. Maybe even hope.

Though there wasn’t much she could see. The blonde was covered from head to toes in her doctor costume and only her eyes could be seen between her surgical mask and cap. Still, she finally closed the distance and stood before her.

For a few seconds, she only stood there silently, eyes slightly widened, looking at her in evident shock.

“May I have this dance?” the stranger’s soft, nearly tentative voice finally asked.

The blonde couldn’t find her own voice, the heat and hunger for this divine creature before her overwhelming all her sense. She only nodded.

The mysterious brunette took her hand delicately and lifted it. For a second, she only stared at it, turning it in her own hand, as if examining every inch in bewildered awe. The blonde felt ashamed for a second. Her hand was thin and pale, her skin almost translucent making her veins look bluish. Her entire body was like that. It’s why she hadn’t let anyone see it or laid with anyone in years. But the brunette only continued her fascinated examination when she clasped her hand gently and slid the other around her waist, bringing them flush together, as she studied her face with inexplicable tenderness and remained seemingly unfazed by the general frailty of her body. If anything, she could’ve sworn she saw green eyes grow wet.

She would’ve noticed more had she not been in this trance-like state, her heart pounding violently within her chest, her nose being flooded by that scent from the morning. Sweet jasmine enveloped her.

Her skin felt overheated and arousal pounded between her legs with every curve of the other woman pressed against her. But it was more than that. An inexplicable pull like the feeling of falling down a cliff gnawed at every fiber of her being.

The brunette slid her cheek against her, her delectable lips reaching her ear, whispering to her.

“What’s your name?”

The blonde couldn’t contain the shiver that ran up her spine and she shook in her arms. The other woman only tightened her grasp, breathing her in, the air around them charged and vibrating.

The blonde demurred, pondering her answer. The few times she had done this, what she at least thought this was leading to, she’d given the same not fully truthful answer. And so her lips finally moved and gave the rarely used name in a raspy, unused voice.

“Jane,” she half-lied.

The brunette stilled for a second.

“You don’t seem like a Jane,” she answered for a beat, resuming the slight swaying in rhythm with the music.

A slender thigh slowly pressed between her own until they claimed the space between them, and then a hand on her lower back dug into her, bunching a fistful of clothes, in a bid to bring her even closer.

She felt drunk, dizzy with lust, with need.

She couldn’t focus enough to dance. To remain calm as if a tempest of emotion wasn’t shaking her from within. As if reading her mind, the woman suddenly released her but kept a hand in hers. She only tipped her head to the side, prompting her to follow her.

She followed.

 

The exited the ball room and the mysterious beauty lead her through a few corridors to the end of a deserted hallway, looking back every now and then. For a second, the light caught her eyes and they looked luminescent, like the eyes of a cat at night. It was just a fraction of a second and then it was gone. The other woman only squeezed her hand and kept walking. She finally took her through the door of an emergency staircase.

It hadn’t clicked closed again, when she was suddenly pushed against the wall and her mask pulled down, and then those heavenly lips were crashing against her mouth. A toe-curling moan came from the woman’s throat when their lips parted, their tongues brushing delectably. She heard a shuddering gasp and the brunette pulled away a fraction to look at her, now face fully uncovered, with wild incredulous eyes brimming with tears. Her hand came up trembling and traced her face with the tips of her fingers, feather-light. She then also slid her cap and ran her fingers over her hair.

A confused brow but worshiping eyes stared at her.

They stared at pale blue eyes, almost grey really, so much their colored become washed out. Thinned out eye lashes framed them. Strand of now lackluster long hair, neither blonde nor brown, were stroked, inspected and then brushed behind ears.

She couldn’t understand why the stranger had chosen her, out of all the people at the ball. Beautiful, normal people. Not her. A frail body covered from head to toe in layers of clothes, hiding a thinned face with deep dark circles and a tired soul.

Nevertheless, the stranger dipped her head again and kissed her, inhaling deeply and then parting her lips to welcome her tongue again. Both shuddered and moaned. Frenzied hands clung and sought flesh beneath all her layers of clothes, a thigh once again finding a place between her own and this time pressing roughly and deliciously against the built tension, ripping another moan of pleasure. She felt those plump lips suck her lower lip and lightly nibble before deepening the kiss again, while one of her hands slipped under the cup of her bra and caressed the sensitive skin there, a thumb running circles around her erect nipple.

Even in her slimmed state, her breasts were still generous, and the stranger purred with delight kneading the overflowing softness.

The blonde was on fire. Arousal flooded the soft cotton of her simple underwear and her hands cupped the perfect, fleshy round bottom of the brunette, urging on the movements of her grinding thigh against her. She could swear she heard the crackling of a campfire again but ignored it in favor of pulling down the thin straps of the brunette’s gown and following the curve of her shoulder to the base of her neck with open-mouthed kisses and bites and a warm tongue. She needed to taste her, devour her, possess her. She had never felt such a blinding need to take someone. To burn to the ground with it.

The brunette quivered in her arms, breathing harshly, her hand descending from her breast, over her stomach and beneath the waist band of her scrubs and leggings. It slipped past her panties and finally, finally ran against impossibly wet, heated flesh, dipping with long deft, demanding fingers between her folds. The blonde careened her hips into her hand, whimpering and moaning with desire, until two fingers entered her slowly and a mouth claimed her lips, licking into her with every thrust of her hand inside her. She could hear the sound of her slick arousal every time the brunette’s fingers sank inside of her, a wet almost obscene sound which seemed to only spurn her on, slamming into her harder, more desperately. 

“Fuck… oh god, fuck!” the blonde managed to breathe out, her pleasure mounting unbearably, maddeningly, threatening to explode and obliterate her whole.

With what little conscious thought she still had, she brought her left hand between their bodies, following the slit of the brunette’s gown and slipping in the warmth between the stranger’s legs. She cupped her over lacy underwear, a slim thong she easily pulled aside and without warning or preamble, sank two fingers knuckles deep inside molten velvet. The stranger cried out in pleasure, tears shimmering in the green, as the blonde began thrusting inside her with equal measure of desperation. Her thrusts quickly synchronized with the brunette’s own rhythm, who still had her fingers buried deep inside her and was pounding against her in tandem. They crashed their mouths together again, swallowing each other’s whimpers and moans, their tongues caressing and licking in between ragged breaths.

She felt herself on the brink of coming, tensing as the first wave exploded and drowned her with pleasure, feeling the brunette’s walls tighten and spasm around her fingers almost a second later. Plump lips detached from her mouth and moaned deeply in the crook of her neck, a mouth closing over her pulse point, as an earth-shattering orgasm ripped through her, all light and sound disappearing, her head tipped back against the wall while she cried out. She felt her bones break and melt like liquid, tears running down her cheeks as she shook and shuddered, the pleasure too intense and overwhelming to register anything else, other than the wetness flooding her own hand between the stranger’s legs and the other body shaking against her.

Then stranger pulled back, her head tipped back, back arched, a groan on her lips.

It was then that the blonde saw it.

Two pearly white fangs covered in blood.

And a sharp pain on her neck that she only then registered.

 

Her eyes grew wide, panic freezing her veins and nearly stopping her heart.

The brunette opened her eyes and for a moment, the luminescent color flashed in them again. Her own eyes suddenly widened when she saw the panicked blonde. Her hand flew to her mouth, slapping against it.

“Sorry! I’m… so sorry! I didn’t mean to…’’

The blonde jumped back, her hand roughly pulling out of the stranger. The creature. Whatever it was.

“I’m sorry!” the brunette stepped towards her, eyes still round with guilt.

She jumped back again and fell on the ground. Her legs felt like jelly. She scrambled up, her hands extended in front of her in a defensive stance, shaking. Her eyes flitted with fear towards the door and then bolted out.

The blonde ran through the dim corridors, afraid her legs would give out again. One hand against her neck, heart in her mouth, as she tried to get back to the ballroom to safety. She pushed through the doors in a frenzy, her brain tripping over itself and even dizzier. She saw all the figures in a haze, beady eyes behind masks turning to look at her in confusion. So many faces. Her panic flared even more.

Her eyes frantically searched the room for familiar figures, until she finally saw her parents on the other side chatting. She scrambled to them, progressively slowing down and trying to regain her composure. What would she even say?

 _I just fucked a stranger in a stairway. Oh, and she was a vampire and bit me_.

She stopped at that.

She brought the hand holding her neck to her eyes and saw the blood smeared on her fingertips. She saw a tray with glasses on a table and went to it. She used it as a mirror and saw some blood on her neck too. She wiped it off, expecting to see two deep bite marks. To her shock, only faint, pale pink dots were there, as if she had inexplicably healed. She touched them and felt lingering tenderness there.

She was losing her mind. That was the only explanation.

She calmed her breathing though her heart was still beating erratically. She straightened her clothes and only had one goal in mind. Get the hell out of there.

She walked towards her parents, feigning calm.

“Hey, honey,” her mother cooed with a smile.

“Hey, mom. Do you mind if I slip out early?”

“Are you okay, honey?” brown eyes crinkled in worry.

“Yeah, no. I’m just a bit sleepy. Don’t worry.”

“Well, we can leave if you want.”

“No, no! Mom. This is your night. I was actually thinking of crashing at your place if that was okay, so you can worry about me all you want tomorrow,” she deflected with a grin.

“You want me to go back with ya, kiddo? I’m feeling kinda knackered myself,” Jake asked, exchanging a silent agreement as he gazed at his wife.

“Who says ‘knackered’, dad?”

“Your cool old man, kiddo! C’mon, let’s go.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, there’re only so many times I can tell my doctor jokes before your mom calls security on me,” he chuckled.

“Why don’t we all go?”

“No, mom. It’s fine. Look, Kane and Callie just came in. I know how much you’ve missed them. Stay. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Okay then. Call me if you need anything,” she said a bit unsure, as she kissed her daughter goodbye.

The truth was she didn’t want to go back to her house all alone. Even if she was an independent woman now, it didn’t mean she couldn’t need her parents sometimes. Especially after what she had just gone through.

She didn’t want to be alone.

As she left with her father to their house, she felt her skin prickle and sting, her splitting headache coming back, her body restless and like a fever wanted to take over her. She snuggled in her large lab coat and shuddered.

From a darkened corner, a lone figure stood watching the lights of the car disappearing in the distance.

 

* * *

 

The feeling her skin was being shredded persisted for a few hours then disappeared when the scent came back outside her parents’ house. She pretended to ignore its meaning and had a fitful sleep filled with strange dreams.

She went back to her house the next day in the evening, tired and groggy, fleeing her parents’ attention and worried eyes as they surveyed her paleness and loose clothes. She watched the house from outside, as if making sure nothing was amiss.

Her black cat, a rescued kitten from a kill shelter, came to bump her leg purring and looking at her with yellow questioning eyes about her abandonment for a day. They went in together and the cat followed her into every room while she checked in every closet, cupboard and under her bed. She felt silly, but she wouldn’t feel satisfied until she did so.

She stayed in her living room with a cup of tea while the cat ate ravenously from her plate. She heard the creaks and cracks of the old house, something scurrying and scrapping away under the floor, hopefully some furry animal and not anything more dangerous. The black little spider living in a corner went down on a line of silky web to check on a fluttering moth. The big, ancient clock ticked away. The light from the porch flickered.

She needed to replace that, she thought. She needed to replace many things, but she knew she wouldn’t.

She was in debt from med school and had not been able to start her residency to start paying it back. School had nearly killed her several times over, but she persisted, shaking with fevers and aching bones every sleepless night of grueling study. Her parents pleaded with her, but she finished somehow. She knew, however, she’d never make it through the crushing hours of the resident program, much less to the exposure she’d face at the hospital. She never expected it to make it this far, no one did.

So she found the oldest, cheapest place to rent, a dilapidated ancient carriage house and decided never to ask her parents for money or any kind of help. They were stretched enough as it was. She stayed there staring out her balcony, only lamenting the debt she’d leave them when she left.

It would be soon. She could feel it.

She had decided it so.

Sleep was filled again with strange images she couldn’t decipher.

She went to work next day. One of her teachers who had always seen her talent despite her difficulties, had convinced her to be a tutor for their faculty when they heard she wouldn’t be entering her residency that year. She could charge by the hour and they got her a small office where she could guide students for their exams. She liked being in her small, quiet office surrounded by the smell of dusty books and a comfy leather couch she could nap on in between sessions when she grew tired.

In those two days, the scent never went away.

 

* * *

 

 

It was on the third night, after a late tutoring session when she was walking back home, that she felt it again.

The prickling skin. The heat on her neck.

She thought she heard footsteps behind her in a particularly dimly lit street, littered with old leaves. She saw a shadow from the corner of her eye in the next street, her heart jumping and palms sweating, her mind getting dizzy again. Dread filled her stomach and squeezed it with a cold vice when she saw a pair of yellow eyes glowing in the dark for a second.

Her whole body shook in panic. She tried to run but only tripped like in the horror movies she had always criticized every time the victim conveniently fell down when the killer was on their heels. She scrambled up, a scream caught in her throat without any sound coming out. Her vision swam and her chest constricted.

The figure stepped into the beams of a lone street light in her direction and then she could do nothing more than stay rooted there, her hands held up trying to stop her in vain.

It was the woman from the ball. The creature.

She had known all along it was her.

When she was just a few feet from her, she saw her eyes. Sadness and regret shone in them, but also something else.

Recognition.

She felt herself sway, her legs giving in, her vision hazy and her mind losing consciousness.

She never hit the ground, though.

Arms held her and lowered her to a soft lap without letting go. The woman was kneeling and sat back on the balls of her feet, holding her with such tenderness.

Before the blonde’s eyes closed and darkness swallowed her, she lifted her hand weakly and ran it down the stranger’s face and then smiled at her.

Words in a tongue and accent she didn’t know slipped out her own lips.

“ _Leksa_ ,” she whispered.

The stranger’s eyes filled with tears and she choked out an answer through her matching smile, pain and joy in her voice.

“ _Niron_.”

 


	2. The New One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story completely got away from me lol

 

* * *

 

 

_I had been hungry all the years;_

_My noon had come, to dine;_

_I, trembling, drew the table near,_

_And touched the _curious wine__.

_\- Emily Dickinson_

 

She woke up with a start. Her eyes surveyed the walls not recognizing her surroundings. All she remembered was the strange woman walking up to her in the dark street. Her heart jumped at the memory and she sat up.

For a second, panic flooded her again. Wasn’t this how so many kidnapped women ended up? Trapped in some underground cellar at the mercy of a deranged captor?

Except she wasn’t tied up nor was she underground. Her eyes looked around the room, seeing the beautiful night sky from the large window. A four-poster bed with soft, warm covers was her current location.

The walls were white and simple, but the room had beautifully carved dark furniture made of heavy, solid wood. A fireplace was lit on one side and crackled softly. A thick white rug surrounded the bed over impeccable dark hardwood floors. Everything, in fact, was impeccable.

She felt tired, but the headache was gone. She slipped out of bed and stood there for a moment debating what to do. Her shoes, coat and purse were set on a small table in the corner, next to a vase filled with white roses and pink lilies.

Before she could decide, she heard tentative footsteps nearing the room and then a soft knock.

She should have felt fear but didn’t when she saw the stranger again.

She was as breathtakingly beautiful as she remembered. This time she was dressed in a simple grey turtleneck sweater and black skinny jeans. Her hair was loose, falling over her shoulders in soft waves. Her eyes were earnest but cautious.

“Who are you?” the blonde demanded.

A flash of disappointment seemed to cross her features.

She remained silent.

“Where am I?” she tried again.

“At my home. You fainted,” she offered as way of explanation.

“Were you following me?”

“Yes,” she admitted simply.

“Why?”

“I had to.”

“Why?”

“I needed to.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“I know.”

“Am I your prisoner?”

“No,” she said with a hint of offense. “Of course not. You can leave anytime you desire,” she added softly.

The blonde scoffed disbelieving.

“The door to your room is open. All the doors are unlocked.”

“So I can leave now?”

“Yes.”

“Will you follow me again?”

“Yes.”

“Why?!”

“I can’t do otherwise.”

The blonde sighed in frustration.

“I’m leaving.”

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

“Why? Plan on doing a little murder tonight?”

“I would never hurt you.”

“My neck disagrees,” she countered, although she actually and irrationally believed the stranger.

“I never meant for that to happen.”

“What? Feed on me?”

“I wasn’t feeding on you… that wasn’t my intent.”

“So it’s true then? I didn’t have some insane hallucination? You bit me?”

The brunette nodded.

“I’m sorry. I can explain.”

The blonde scoffed and shook her head.

She made her way to the table and put on her shoes, grabbing her coat and purse.

“I’m going,” she breathed and walked past her hurriedly, descending the stairs and making her way to the front door. It was unlocked as the stranger had promised.

She looked over her shoulder and saw the other woman had followed her but stood on the doorway as the blonde walked down the pathway leading out to the street, making no move to stop her.

Every step she took, however, was suddenly painful. Her body felt heavy. The prickling of her skin came back and felt like someone was pulling it back with hot irons. She shuddered and staggered dizzily. She turned around, facing the doorway, grunting in frustration.

“Why can’t I leave?” she groaned. “What did you do to me?”

“Nothing. Please, come back inside,” she pleaded. “You are not well. I promise I will answer all your questions if you do.”

She must have been out of her mind. She was willingly going back to the house of a woman, a thing, a being, who had just admitting to drinking her blood. She should just lie on the dinner table and make it easier for her.

She nodded weakly and the brunette finally stepped outside, reaching her and in an instant. She lifted her up in her arms and carried her back inside like she weighed nothing.

In all fairness, she didn’t much anymore.

 

She carried her to the living room where another fire was roaring in the chimney. She set her on a plush Queen Anne chair.

She left for a moment and came back with a tray and set it on the small, round table beside the chair.

“I made you a broth and toast. You need to regain some strength.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Please.”

“What did you put in it?” she asked suspiciously.

The other woman sighed.

“If I wanted to hurt you, don’t you think I would’ve when you were passed out upstairs or at any other time?”

She finally relented and brought the cup of broth to her lips, drinking a small gulp. It was delicious. She took another and hummed.

The brunette nodded satisfied and went to sit on the other identical chair opposite her and looked at her intently.

“Ask.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Who are you?”

“I’ve had many names and been called many things.”

“This is going to take forever,” the blonde lifted her eyebrows.

The stranger smiled at that. A lovely, close-lipped smile that tilted to one side.

God, she was so beautiful.

“I go by Alexandria now.”

“Alexandria,” the blonde tried out.

“That still doesn’t answer who you are,” she said after a beat. “ _What_ you are…”

“You know what.”

“I want to hear you say it or I’ll feel like I’m losing my mind.”

She lowered her eyes, thinking.

“Are you a vampire, Alexandria?” she asked impatiently.

The brunette lifted her eyes and fixed her gaze on her.

“Yes.”

The blonde swallowed. She didn’t think she would get such a straightforward admission.

“Like a vampire _vampire_? A real, actual, totally-exists-and-is-not-a-euphemism, vampire?”

“Yes.”

Silence.

She let the information sink in. The rational part of her told her it was utterly absurd. The other part of her knew deep down that is was absolutely true.

“But just because they call us that doesn’t mean that is who we are.”

“What do you mean?”

“Most of it is just folklore. Tall tales. Myths. Overactive imagination,” she gestured dismissively.

“Like what?”

“Most of it.”

The blonde thought for a moment, making a mental list of all the things vampires were known for.

“Can you walk in the sun or do you burst into flames or something?”

“We have no problem with daylight. No bursting for any reason,” the vampire replied calmly, a hint of mirth in her eyes.

“Crucifixes?”

“There have been thousands of religions and gods thought up by humans. Why would a symbol of one do anything?”

“So there is no God?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Never met one. I did, however, get called a god many times.”

“Holy water?”

“Same as above.”

“And your heart?”

“What about it?”

“Did it stop when you became a vampire and your skin went cold and all that?”

The vampire lifted one eyebrow, unimpressed.

“Think about it. What would happen to my body if my heart had stopped? You’re a doctor. Tell me.”

“The cells wouldn’t get oxygen or food. They’d die. Tissue would go necrotic. Rot.”

“Exactly. We’d be walking corpses falling to pieces. It makes no sense.”

“So you have a heartbeat?”

“Of course. I think you would’ve been able to tell the other night.”

The blonde flushed red with the memories, arousal suddenly flooding low in her belly and pulsating again. Of course. She had touched her, kissed her, felt her heat and her pulse around her fingers. She swallowed thickly.

“Besides, if we did not have a heartbeat, why would a stake through the heart kill us? It’s illogical,” she continued, eyes shiny noticing the blush she had provoked in her guest but wanting to save her from any awkwardness.

“So the stake is fake too? It doesn’t kill you?” the mortal asked, after clearing her throat.

“No.”

“What about mirrors? Do you have a reflection?”

“We are flesh and blood, so yes.”

“Do you turn into bats or whatever?”

The vampire chuckled.

“No,” she wrinkled her nose in mild disgust. “We have no relation to them.”

“What about coffins?” she continued.

“They’re for dead people.”

“I know that. I’m just crossing my T’s here.”

“Some of our kind did get buried alive by mistake and had to break out, so I guess the myth might have come from that,” she offered.

“Having to be invited in?”

“Other than being common courtesy, no. There is no magical barrier.”

“Garlic?”

“Delicious with pasta.”

This provoked a chuckle from the blonde.

“So you eat? Apart from, you know, blood?”

“If we want, yes, as a sporadic pleasure. Though it does not provide all we need to feed us.”

“Only blood can?”

“Yes. We don’t need much. Less than you would give donating blood.”

“So you don’t kill to feed? You don’t have to drain a person?”

“No. And we don’t have to eat often. We can go more than a month without feeding.”

“What happens if you don’t?”

“We go into deep sleep until we find a food source again.”

“But you don’t die?”

“No.”

“Ever?”

“Not naturally. Even to kill us is not an easy task.”

“So you _are_ immortal?”

“You can say that.”

“How is that even possible?”

“Tardigrades.”

“What?”

“Tardigrades. You know, the little microscopic water bears?”

“I know what they are,” she rolled her eyes. “Are you telling me you aren’t related to bats but to water bugs, cause that would be entirely disappointing.”

The vampire smirked amused.

“No. I just find that giving examples of similar phenomena makes it easier for people to accept things they deem… a bit fantastical, if you will.”

“So tardigrades?”

“Did you know they can go three decades without food or water? That they don’t die even under extreme heat or cold, radiation, pressure, outer space, lack of oxygen. Nothing. They once revived eggs that had been in thousands of years old arctic ice. Everyone knows they exist and accept they have these abilities without doubt. Why couldn’t other life forms possess similar abilities without being called…?”

“Supernatural?”

“Exactly.”

“You make a compelling argument.”

“What I mean by it is that most things can be explained logically.”

“You sound like Mr. Spock.”

“He was right most of the time.”

The blonde girl smiled.

 

She had never expected it to be this easy. She was talking to an actual living vampire and it all felt so natural and flowed with such comfortable ease. She should be terrified. Beside herself.

Instead she curled herself further into the chair and sipped at the broth again. She felt an inexplicable sense of peace, which is what alarmed her even if she didn’t ‘feel’ alarmed.

“Can you do that thing with your eyes? Like hypnotize and make people do your bidding? Is that what you did to me?”

“The glimmer? Like in movies?”

The blonde nodded.

“No. Things would be different in the world if we _could_ control human’s minds.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. No more pollution. Or poaching. Or karaoke,” she listed humorously.

“Karaoke?”

“An abomination.”

“You’re funny.”

Two perfectly defined eyebrows lifted in challenge.

“But we _can_ make people forget. After we feed, I mean. They forget. It’s how we’ve managed to stay hidden in plain sight so to speak.”

“So you _can_ manipulate minds?”

“No, it’s more like a side-effect. Like with mosquito bites.”

“I sense another animal tangent coming,” the blonde girl said facetiously, though she was repressing a smile.

“Their saliva is anesthetic to prevent you from feeling their pinch, but the saliva causes an allergic reaction afterwards. An itch. It’s something similar with us. Our fangs secrete a healing enzyme to avoid leaving a mark, but it causes a small short-term memory loss as a side-effect, just of a few minutes usually.”

“So people forget they were… fed on?”

“Precisely. That’s also why we feed mostly at night. Bars. Nightclubs. Crowded places with slightly inebriated people are ideal places to do it undetected.”

“Yeah, I guess nobody will look twice at two people canoodling in a corner,” she replied thoughtfully. “But why didn’t I forget then?”

“I wasn’t feeding on you, as I already said. I didn’t mean to do that. It was a reflex… when we were…” she gestured in the air bashfully.

The mortal looked at her more puzzled than ever. Instead of some scary, dreadful monster all the legends made vampires out to be, she never would’ve expected them to be somewhat stoic, soft-spoken creatures that blushed prettily at the mention of sex, even though she herself felt her face heat up at the memory again.

She felt her heart fill with a dangerous feeling. Something that felt a lot like fondness.

She blinked, trying to shake the thought away.

“It still doesn’t explain why I didn’t forget,” she pushed on.

The vampire looked at her fixedly.

“I’m not sure… _Jane_ ,” she pronounced her name meaningfully and with a questioning tone, making the mortal swallow guiltily at the fake name she’d given her. She looked down at her hands, embarrassed the brunette clearly knew that.

It wasn’t exactly a fake name to be fair, just not the one she normally went by.

She decided to relent and deflect the conversation for now.

“So how do you explain ‘vampires’ then?” she used quotation marks around the word since the brunette didn’t seem too keen on the term. “How can you be immortal?”

“Infinite capacity to regenerate.”

“What?”

“That’s how we live as long as we do. We can regenerate infinitely. Wounds. Diseases. Cold. Heat. Whatever. We regenerate what was damaged.”

“It still doesn’t explain how and why. Where did you come from? How can that be even possible?”

“The first memories our elders have suggest we… _came to be…_ in a small settlement inside a cave north of Ireland. After a hunting expedition gone wrong. They sailed to a cluster of islands to find hunt and forage, but they were trapped by a sudden freeze. The snow and ice trapped them and confined them to a cave for several years. They had barely anything to eat. They began drinking their own blood when the thirst and hunger was too great. And there, our kind was born. From starvation and darkness, a change occurred. That is what our ancestors tells us.”

“An evolutionary jump?” the blonde exclaimed in a whisper, understanding flashing in her widened eyes.

“Yes. Many believe we only change through minute adaptations during millions of years, but sometimes a sudden change, a mutation, a leap can happen.”

“So you adapted to just drink blood?”

“And see in the dark.”

“Any other abilities?”

“We are lighter than humans, but our bones and tendons are both stronger and more flexible, which gives us greater speed and strength. We also have great sense of smell. Easier to find prey hibernating deep in the snow, I guess.”

“Makes sense,” the blonde mused deep in thought. “Is that why you eat so little? I mean, why you can go so long without it.”

“Must be,” the vampire nodded. “But the genetic alterations didn’t just change what we ate, but something much more fundamental.”

“What?”

“We never stop producing stem cells. Our brains, our spine, our marrow, every tissue and bone. They can all produce them constantly.”

The realization hit the blonde like a ton of bricks.

“That’s how you regenerate,” she gasped. “They change into whatever cell needs repairing.”

The vampire nodded.

“So your adult cells _do_ decay or die, they just keep replenishing with new ones forever.”

Another nod.

“So no wrinkles? No gray hairs. No blemishes. No senility. Wow. Must suck to be you,” she concluded sarcastically with every shake of the vampire’s head to her questions.

“Evolutionary perks,” she curved one corner of her mouth.

“Wait, but how do you know all this? I mean, the details, the science?”

 “We are a curious kind. Living for millennia will do that to anyone, to keep the mind occupied. We seek knowledge, experiences, anything. Our kind has always had many explorers and wanderers. As time passed and the world became modern, many have found comfort in the halls of academia, research, labs, observatories, libraries. We are patient and a little in our own heads, some would say.”

“So the broody type is not just a myth?”

The vampire smiled and shrugged with one shoulder.

“We of course have our own labs. To understand who we are. To make sure we can protect ourselves. That’s how we know what we know. At least, in part.”

“In part?”

“You’re a scientist. I thought it would be easier if I explained it to you in those terms. You’re more likely to find it plausible if I say we share a common ancestor and branched off the evolutionary tree thanks to a mutation in our chromosomes. That’s what our own scientists say.”

“So that’s not the truth?” she asked confused.

“It is. But it’s not the only truth or the only explanation.”

“What other explanation then?”

“Our mystics believe we are ancient spirits of the Earth. That it is our flame, our eternal soul, that gives the vessel its immortality.”

“I was never one to believe much in that sort of thing,” the blonde mused. “Do you believe it?”

“I don’t know. It would explain some things.”

“Like?”

“We know our own names at birth.”

Agitation stirred in the blonde’s stomach at that, but she said nothing for now.

“And… we… we always come in pairs,” the vampire continued.

“As in twins?”

“As in mates. We only ever have one companion we are bound to for life. For eternity.”

“Soulmates?” the blonde asked in surprise.

“Yes.”

“And you know who they are too?”

She nodded. “We sense when they are born, usually just a few years apart. We can also feel when they are in great pain… or when they die,” she finished, her jaw flexing.

“Did you… have one?”

“I lost her,” she whispered, a dark look in her eyes.

“What happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I have time.”

 

The vampire sighed. She got up from the chair and walked towards the fire, her back to the blonde. Her hands clasped behind her as she looked at the flames for a few silent minutes.

“Another of our kind, Nia, she rebelled from our laws. She wanted to enslave humans. Only a few of our own joined her cause, but she had followers. Humans who saw her as a god of some sort. I was the head of the Council of clans then. I… _we_ went after her. My companion was captured. Nia tortured her, cut of her head, killed her,” she swallowed thickly, tears shinning in her eyes.

“Oh my god.”

The vampire was silent again.

“I thought you couldn’t be killed.”

“I said it was difficult. The head needs to be severed from the body, as does the spine. All three things burned and kept separate to avoid regeneration, until they finally die out. Sometimes it takes a week or two,” she said darkly. “The companion feels… everything, until the final spark of life dies out. The pain after. It is even worse.”

Nia had chained her, forced her to watch as she beheaded her beloved, as the life drained out for days on end from those brilliant blue eyes that become dull little by little, lips still moving and eye lids blinking slightly as her flame died out, her blonde hair tainted brown by the drying blood. She struggled against the chains in desperation trying to reach out to her, to save her, howling in rage and despair. She’d broken her wrists and teared the skin down to the down to the bone trying to get out of the chains, all in vain. Nia had prepared everything, including the thick unbreakable chains anchored to the floor just a few feet away from where they killed her beloved. They then burned her body in front of her until she was nothing but ashes. The pain had ripped her apart. Nia had then escaped and left her chained there where she cried and screamed and fainted in unbearable sorrow for weeks. Until her clan found her.

The blonde got up and walked to stand next to her. She let her hand set on the woman’s back and stroked it in comfort. Her heart broke for her. She could not imagine anything so horrific, so devastating happening to someone.

“I’m so sorry I asked.”

“It’s okay.”

After a moment, she sighed.

“It’s late. You should get some rest.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not. And I need to feed tonight. I will come back in the morning.”

“If you want, you can… I mean, I don’t mind… you could… umm…,” the blonde stuttered and blushed, not believing she was offering herself as a snack to a literal vampire.

The brunette looked at her with soft eyes.

“I appreciate the offer,” she smiled, “but you are too weak, even for just that.”

“I’m not,” she countered annoyed.

“You are dying.”

 

The silence was deafening. She had said it with such simple confidence and honesty. She was the first person to simply spell it out.

“I know.”

They looked at each other without speaking, their gazes locked. The vampire’s eyes looked sad. Pained even.

“Don’t go.”

“Okay.”

“Is that why you are following me? You want to turn me? Because you’re lonely and need a companion?”

The vampire didn’t answer for a beat.

“I want to save you, yes. And you would have to become my companion for that. But I didn’t know at first. That you were dying. I didn’t know what I would find. I didn’t know I would find _you_.”

Her eyes betrayed her emotions though her face appeared unperturbed on the surface. There was so much in the green, expressive eyes of the vampire, that the girl didn’t know what to make of it.

“What do you mean?”

“I… I was following… a clue,” she said vaguely.

The blonde only raised her eyebrows in question.

“I was following a scent. And it turned out to be you.”

“Me? You followed my… scent? What does that mean?”

“Do you know why you are dying?” she countered.

“A rare blood disease. No one knows what it is. There only 29 registered cases in the entire world. No one funds research for a cure that would make no profit. They can’t even decide on a name that isn’t some long and incomprehensible jargon,” she shrugged darkly.

 

She had seen the information so many times. Some speculated it was congenital. Auto-immune. Others didn’t even pay attention long enough to even know it existed.

Abby had dedicated her entire life to it when, after only a few weeks since she had been born, she had shown signs that something was amiss. She lost weight rather than gained it. She had fits of weakness and horrible headaches, which all led to a precarious immune system. Everything could kill her. She had barely come into the world when she began living as a bubble baby well into her teenage years, with an entire section of the house closed off in plastic walls and filters for her.

Abby had tried every single specialist and trial. Had even exhausted traditional medicine and supposed miracle cures from shady quack doctors. Things had only improved when they began experimenting with nutritionists and only after many years of trying different combinations. It’s what had allowed her to go out into the world with slightly improved health. Go to college. To med school.

But some months ago, after having to quit her plans for her medical career, she had decided to stop taking the weird little pills made with god knows what from an enigmatic Scandinavian lab one of the specialists had referred her to.

Cause it was all a joke. Everything had been a big joke. Who was she kidding into thinking she could ever have a future? They had been only prolonging the inevitable. She’d been biding her time until she faded completely, allowing herself to have something ridiculous like hope. So, she had stopped taking them. Her parents didn’t know yet and it was for the better.

 

“You are not sick. Not really. You are starving to death.”

The mortal girl only furrowed her brows in confusion.

“How do you know?”

Unless the vampire had studied the rare syndrome and how it affected their bodies, how would she know.

“I’ve seen it before.”

 

* * *

 

On a warm spring day of 1993, a new member of the Griffin family came to the world. Abby and Jake’s child had been special and they had known it from the moment she had been born. Rather than the sleepy, hazy, half-lidded eyes of a newborn who either cried or fell asleep, it had been bright, sparkly blue eyes with an uncanny look of self-awareness that had stared at them from thick, curly lashes when the doctor had deposited her into the arms of a sweaty tired Abby, who had had to push for what seemed like days to deliver her. The baby had looked at Abby intently, then at Jake, as if examining them. Then her eyes had surveyed the rest of the room, or rather the people in the OR, slowly and fully conscious. If was only then, after seemingly not finding what she was looking for, did her chin quiver and she finally started crying.

Jake and Abby thought it funny and only cooed and kissed her little head covered in golden, soft curls, too ecstatic to welcome their daughter into the world to think much of it. 

It was only as the weeks went by and baby Jane, named after Abby’s mother, had trouble gaining weight, despite drinking all the milk Abby was able to produce, that they began to notice little quirks about their daughter.

There was always a moment, right as she woke up, when her eyes seemed to look for something in the room, only to wail a little after in displeasure. Her cries also became more frequent once her body began to exhibit the signs of weakness that would sentence her to a life of suffering. She grew pale and her little brow would crease in pain with terrible headaches and light fevers she was prone to.

Abby’s pregnancy had been normal. Other than having to eat three times the recommended amount of food since the baby seemed to be sucking the life out of her, and not gaining a single pound despite gorging on meat and dairy and vegetables and anything she could wolf down, her pregnancy had been good.

They joked that it was Jake’s fault for getting her pregnant with what probably would be an enormous ‘viking baby’ in poor Abby’s slim body, courtesy of Jake’s mother’s Norwegian roots. Jake always countered reminding Abby of the stories in her own family. All the women in Abby’s family were incredibly strong-headed, with fiery and stubborn personalities. They usually excused it away claiming they were distant descendants of one of tribes that had joined Boudicca’s rebellion and that fire was in their blood. So he would regularly joke that he was fully expecting Abby to be pushing out a burly, Celtic warrior, after finding a 6-month pregnant Abby one night half asleep in the kitchen eating a full rack of ribs like a barbarian, clutching a rib in each hand, chin covered in BBQ sauce. But other than her odd eating habits, nothing else had seemed amiss.

As the months and years went by, while Jake and Abby took her for every test available and tried everything to cure the mysterious illness, baby Jane grew nevertheless into a strong-willed, imaginative child. Even from her sectioned-off part of the house, with plastic walls and whirring machines cleaning the air inside, she had been energetic at first. It had started with her name. Or what became her name.

Once she had learned to say ‘mama’ and ‘dada’, the third word she spoke was ‘klak’ every time they called her Jane. She’d shake her little head, point at her parents, repeat their names and then point at her chest with pudgy fingers and exclaim ‘klak’, which eventually morphed into ‘klark’ once she could pronounce better. She would ignore them or pout when they insisted on calling her Jane. So when she was 4 years old and the trend continued, they decided to change her birth certificate to Clarke Jane Griffin even if it didn’t rhyme.

Her parents usually told this story as a joke to the rest of the family, saying how Clarke was so stubborn, she had even named herself.

The fourth word their daughter said was ‘lexa’. She’d play by herself and babble on ‘lexa’ intermittently. She would also wake up from restless dreams repeating the word. It was only when she was about five, when Abby was ordering her room, that she figured out she was referring to a person when she noticed something strange about her toys. Her dolls specifically. She called Jake into the room.

“Honey, do you notice something about the dolls?”

“What do you mean?”

“Look at them. Really look at them.” So he did, squinting and trying to figure out what the deal was.

“Woah. That’s kinda… weird.”

“Right?”

Staring back at them on her shelves and bed, were dolls that all looked like each other. All the dolls had brown hair and green eyes. Clarke would pick them out from catalogues they brought her since she couldn’t go out to stores without getting sick. The ones that they had bought randomly, she had used green crayons colors on their eyes and messy brown marker on their hair.

When Clarke came to stand next to them trying to figure out what they were looking at, Abby simply asked her.

“Why do they all look the same?”

The toddler shrugged and replied.

“It’s Lexa’’

By age six, she stopped using the name or waking up from distressed dreams, as her health declined and her body became even more frail. Her eyes lost their sparkle and the colors and the life seemed to fade out of her.

Abby was determined to save her daughter though and spared no effort. Clarke was just as stubborn and held on with unassailable determination.

All three forgot about Clarke’s imaginary friend.

 

* * *

 

She surveyed the lands around her trying to commit to memory every detail of her home before she departed, filling her eyes with the brilliant greens of the rolling hills and the moss-covered stones. She would never see the same shade of green on her many travels, despite the great sights she would witness, but nothing quite as unique as this. Many often told her her eyes were the same color, as if she carried the very spirit of her ancestral home in them. She was going miss it, she knew this, even though she had impatiently waited for this day of her parting for years. She closed her eyes and breathed in the smell of the dew on the grass and the last wisps of the morning mist that enveloped the ground.

She clasped part of her cape around her shoulders with the bronze brooches holding it on her tunic, preparing for the ride. The broad and beautifully decorated gold bracelets around her wrists, baring the Infinite Tree of Life symbol of her clan, were cold against her skin. As was the heavy and thick torc around her neck that was finally bestowed on her just the night before. The rigid ring had a heavy, rounded, engraved ball on each end resting just above her collar bones, both ends facing each other with a gap between them. The other inhabitants of their island also adopted the custom when their people used to live together, though they do not know its full meaning.

The torc was the sign she had left her childhood behind and was now fully-grown member of her clan on her 23rd Spring of life, after which she would never age a single day more. But it also meant she was ready to seek and join her _leannán,_ her beloved, her spirit mate. The gap between the neck ring would be closed until the ends touched only when she found them. The two heads joined by a single circle symbolized the two souls bound as one for eternity.

The torc was given to her last night at this very same spot during her rite of passage, at the center of the circle of stones her ancestors erected centuries before, where she was also marked with ink on her right arm. The tattoos in turn were a custom that they adopted from their neighbors, the Pictish tribes from the northeast and their mortal fellow Celts around them.

The truth was they had all lived among each other since the dawn of their kind, their customs and culture shaped collectively. It had only been in the last two millennia that they now lived in their own villages separate from humans.

Though she was now fully-grown, today started her Roaming. She would set out to find her _leannán_ and they would roam the world together during the first centuries of their youth. To see the world and its wonders, its darkness and its light. To learn the mind of mortals, beasts and land, so they could better learn to live in balance and peace with them or, as was becoming more of a necessity each day, undetected by them.

Their islands were getting more and more populated with mortals procreating like rabbits, and as raiders and settlers from Iberia, Gaul and beyond came in larger waves. Canaan merchant sailors also were coming more often. They set sail from the Levant, through the Mediterranean and up the risky Atlantic sea route, to trade their glassware and purple-dyed cloth, as well as gold from Nubia and Greece, and took back tin and copper mined from their islands.

When they tired of their Roaming, they could come back to their ancestral lands or go create new settlements like many of her kind had done in the preceding centuries, seeking new havens in remote areas with less humans about. Some of her kin had sailed further northwest to the deserted island of ice and volcanoes where the Azgeda clan lived now. Others had sailed northeast along the icy coast of the Norse lands which one day would become Norway and Finland and then inland into the future Estonia and Siberia. Other used the Atlantic route into the Mediterranean and brought back tales of Sumerian Kings, Pharaohs in the desserts along a great river and the increasingly fascinating Greeks.

She could even come back and go through the Conclave to become one of the leaders of her people, like her mother. She touched the small, round, metal object hanging from a thin necklace and kept safe under her tunic. It was her mother’s insignia who had once wore it on a headband on her forehead as the leader of their clan and of the head of Council of all clans. The insignia was simple brass wheel-shaped circle. It symbolized the steering wheels of the four boats they had sailed on when they had finally returned to their lands after they had _changed_ trapped inside a dark cave on a frozen, tiny island. It was also seen as a symbol of guidance and leadership steering them through the next several millennia with the three tenets of their kind: wisdom, compassion and the strength of their bond to their clan, to their _leannán_ and to the source of their eternal soul-flame that lied in the Otherworld.

Her mother was now in the Otherworld. She had chosen to ascend, leaving her body, to rejoin her father on the other side. Nothing killed them, but many chose to ascend after walking the ground for far too many years and her mother had been one of the oldest of all.

As for herself, she was far too young to lead right now, but she carried that little part of her mother next to her heart until she was wise enough to be able to do so if she was ever called to lead her people.

“Are you ready for your journey, Leksa?” a woman in a dark cloak next to her asked.

“ _Tá_ ,” she replied affirmatively with a smile broadening on her face.

“I am amazed you managed to wait for so long. I thought we’d soon have to tie you to a boulder to stop you from going before your time.”

She chuckled and looked fondly at the woman. She was the only other person older than her mother that she knew, though looking at her she didn’t look a day older than herself except for the deep, old soul in her eyes.  

“I feel my skin and my heart will burst in flames if I wait any longer, Cailleach,” she replied sincerely with a smile still on her lips

“I remember the feeling well,” the elder replied. “There is no pain greater and sweeter than the call of your _leannán._ ”

The young girl hummed. She had been only a year old when she had felt her other be born and it was her first conscious memory. She had felt like her head would split in two, like her flesh was being torn apart, a scent filling her nose and her heart with an uncontrollable need to follow it. It would only subside until they reunited. _Leannáns_ weren’t meant to exist apart, the elders would say, and their souls struggled against the body to go to the other, hence the pain.

As a child, she had wandered into the night several times trying to follow the call of her other, the pull so strong, only to be stopped by her people. She had then petitioned their elders and leaders countless times for them to let her go before her time. They always denied her request.

They were never allowed to leave until they reached their maturity, as they were more vulnerable during their childhood. More clumsy and inept when feeding on humans, injecting them with too much ‘stunner’ that it made them blackout until the next day or too little making them not forget the bite. An adult had to clean their messes often. Mostly, however, it was the time of their training. They learned their history, their rules, their rites, the habits of mortals and animals and weather, and everything others had learned from the world. So, they would sit for hours a day with the elders and _druí_ learning everything. In chants, in songs, in stories, all their knowledge transmitted and memorized orally.

“I will miss home. I will miss you. I’ll send word whenever I can.”

The woman nodded and cupped her cheek fondly with her tattooed hand.

“Remember, you are worthy of your blood. Follow the teachings, follow the tenets and you will make us proud, Leks’Anu, daughter of Danu.”

And so she left that morning on her white horse and disappeared into the mist.

 

There goes the _Anu Beal Táine,_ people in the villages would say, the name mortals had given Lexa and still used for her during the time where her people were still seen as a race of gods.

_Tuath dé Dannan,_ they called them. ‘The tribe of gods, people of the goddess Danu’, referring to her mother who had led them for as long as the mortals remembered. The gods who had come on four ships from the north and landed on their island, the old people would claim. Powerful, immortal, magical, and good.

And they _had_ been good neighbors during the first centuries, all living together. Her people did not enjoy humans suffering anymore than they could see an injured animal, and so many became healers, using their blood to heal the wounds of fallen warriors on the battlefield during mortal wars or to cure the illnesses they were so prone to. They’d give them the excess of their hunts since they ate for pleasure not need. And they were sought for their calm and wise guidance.

When Lexa was born, the tribes of humans saw it as a birth of great importance. In their eyes, she was the daughter of Danu, the Mother Goddess, the mother of all the gods and most powerful of all. She had been born on the last day of spring, heralding the coming of summer. She was also one of them, from the race of the gods, whose soul never died, made from the eternal flames of the Otherworld, the latter a belief shared by her own people and mortals alike.

And so the humans called her _Wesr_ - _Anu Beal Táine_ , which meant ‘Anu, the bright fire of spring’ and lit massive bonfires and feasts in the fields in celebration of her arrival on that night of her birth of the year 2330 B.C, a practice that then became a yearly tradition. Ages later, it would even carry her first human-given name.

The fires of Beltane.

 

* * *

 

She had only been riding for four days when she arrived at her destination. Her _leannán_ had been just four riding days away all this time, albeit at full speed and only stopping to let the horse rest. She knew she had arrived when she was nearly knocked over with the scent and the sense at the pit of her stomach and the back of her neck. She couldn’t really explain how she had found it, other than by instinct and not unlike the butterfly sensing the nectar of flowers in the distance.

If her knowledge of the land and the marking on the rocks didn’t fail her, it was the main village of the _Skitisgeda_ , the clan of the winged people, one of the twelve clans of her own kind. One of the gentler, more jovial clans, who were great craftsmen, musicians and healers. Mortals thought they had a connection with the birds and elements in the skies, which they thought they commanded to harness the healing powers of the sun and stars. She knew, however, the sky had little to do with their abilities to heal people.

All the rolling hills around the village, everywhere she looked, there were bonfires as tall as three men roaring everywhere. People milled around dancing, laughing and drinking from huge bronze cauldrons brimming with sweet mead. Harps and flutes could be heard all around. Several boars were roasting on spitfires. Many ran around naked, as was the custom for this celebration. The men used blue dye forming patterns on their skin, while the women used white pigment, and both hung garlands of leaves, berries and flowers around their heads and necks.

It was already late and the mead and frenzy had reached its tipping point, with couples and groups of people copulating in plain view while others skittered away to the forest chasing each other laughing. In the center, a tall beautiful man with curly red hair and a thick long mustache, fully naked and painted completely blue from head to toes, wore enormous antlers on his head. The stag. The leader of the clan usually played the part of the stag during the celebrations, symbolizing the spirit of the forest, animals and fertility. That told her the man had to be Cerowain.

He was laughing boisterously beckoning his companion, a beautiful woman of pale blonde hair, who sat on the lap of a young mortal man and pretended to be debating her choice. They all laughed after a few seconds and then all ended in a heap of limbs on the floor. 

There were mortals everywhere in fact, participating in the festivities along her own kind. The _Skitis_ still had the custom of welcoming mortals into their villages for the four great season festivals of the year, something her own clan no longer did. Not after what had happened.

She had managed to arrive in time for the last day of the spring festival and heard her own name on the lips of mortals clinking their mead-filled horns in her name, unaware she was there. It was still a strange thing to hear her name when the mortals celebrated it. 

She walked around the village nearing the bonfires. She heard hurried footsteps stop behind her and froze. Every hair on her body rose, her skin buzzing and prickling, heart beating wildly in her chest and in her ears.

She slowly turned around. What she saw made her knees weak and her heart swell, fiery desire coursing through her, and a longing and relief that filled her eyes with unshed tears.

Before her was a young woman of breath-taking beauty. Her eyes were blazing blue and the most striking thing she had ever seen. Thick golden eyelashes framed them exquisitely. Soft blonde curls the color of the hay in the sun fell on her shoulders. Her skin was pale despite the rosy cheeks she sported and pink lips suddenly stretching in a blinding smile. She wore a soft, short, sleeveless white tunic over generous curves. A thick band of blue dye was painted on her upper arms and across her collarbones, on her ankles, and across her eyes all the way into her temples. Swirls of white pigment dotted her arms and thighs. Smaller antlers than the man she had seen before were on her head, but the antlers of the stag spirit nonetheless, fastened with a garland of feathers and flowers on her head.

Lexa swallowed thickly, mesmerized.

“You’re the one I’ve been looking for,” she managed.

“You’re the one I’ve been waiting for,” the blonde replied just as half-dazed.

They both smiled even wider.

“I sensed you coming. I could smell your scent everywhere. I’ve been running around the village like a fool trying to find you,” the blonde claimed chuckling, but her eyes shone with elation and burning impulse.

They both took a step towards each other hesitantly, their breaths getting faster. Another step and they were face to face. They breathed each other in, the blonde slightly dipping her head into the brunette’s neck as they turned on the same spot while Lexa did the same, running her nose lightly over her cheek, her ear, her jaw. They shivered.

“ _Leannán_ ,” Lexa whispered pulling back just enough to look at her, staring into her eyes and running her fingers over her face tenderly.

“ _Mo hálainn leannán_ ,” the blonde whispered back entranced.

(My beautiful beloved)

 

She couldn’t stand a second more of this long restraint and grabbed the brunette behind the neck and brought their lips together with desperation. An exploding sensation drowned them both, burning each fiber of their body and heart, desire as violent as wildfire and yet incomprehensibly soothing as the most absolute peace settled in their bones. The peace, the relief, the joy of two separated souls finally being together. They shook and breathed into each other’s mouth wantonly until a bellowing voice interrupted them suddenly.

“And who then is my child’s soul companion?” the smiling but loud voice came.

Cerowain and his wife were standing there a few feet away.

It took a moment for them to shake out of it. Lexa finally felt her legs working again and turned towards them, not letting go of Clarke.

“I am Leksa, daughter of Danu, from the Clan of the Tree.”

The man’s grin broadened with joy and clasped her shoulders.

“You are the daughter of Danu?! Dear Danu, our great Heda, my dear friend,” he exclaimed with emotion in his eyes and voice. “Let me see you better? _Tá_. You bear her eyes and the strength of the spirit burning in them. A joyous day. My _goufa_ joining hers! A joyous, joyous day!” he boomed with excitement.

A frenzy of voices and whispers rippled around them among the mortals.

 

_The daughter of the Mother Goddess!_

_That’s Beal Taine!_

_She’s joining the Horned God’s daughter! Kla’rk’Airmid, the Faerie Princess who heals._

 

And so went the frenzied, confused, conjecturing voices of drunken mortals, rumbling in crescendo around them. A flurry of activity began, the drums adding to the sensation.

They ushered them both to the edge of the trees. Lexa was rushed to a moss-covered rock pool of translucent water. Several of her kind, including Cerowain’s wife freed her of her clothes and went into the pool with her and proceeded to scrub her clean from her long journey. They then rubbed an oil of crushed lilies on her skin, while others braided small flowers and leaves into her braids. She was finally covered in markings with the white pigment, swirls and three-cornered trinity knot symbols now on her arms, legs and torso.

Somewhere nearby the same was being done to the blonde, and her blue paint reapplied except now much more of the blue dye was on her skin. Her forehead, her shoulders, her belly, her forearms, her feet. Cerowain then surprised her by gifting Clarke with her torc, though she was still a year shy of her rite of passage and would still have to stay in the village to complete it.

They were then brought together in the middle. The entire village and their mortal guests surrounded them, the beat of the drums increasing, smiles and awe on their faces. It was not often that people got to witness two _leannáns_ joining, since her kind could spend centuries before a new child was even born among them, let alone witness them find their other. And the drunken mortals, with their heads filled with superstition, had never even heard of such a thing and watched with mouths agape, thinking they were seeing deities marry.

For the two brides, nothing really existed beyond themselves. Their eyes roamed transfixed over the other’s beautifully decorated naked body, desire burning in their veins, hearts brimming with passion and love. The moment they had been waiting for their entire lives was finally upon them. And they could feel the connection between them in every molecule of air between them, in every heartbeat, in every breath, in every gaze, in the shaking kiss they’d shared.

The _druí_ of the clan was there and clasped their hands together, wrapping a long, red cloth strewn with flowers, around their hands.

“Born from the same source, in the eternal flames of the world beyond, the two souls reunite,” he incanted.

“Leksa, daughter of Danu and Dadga, you are now one with your _leannán_ , bound in the eternal life as one,” he continued, clasping her torc in his hands and closing them until the ends met.

“Klark, daughter of Dian and Cerowain, you are now one with your _leannán_ , bound in the eternal life as one.” He repeated the gesture, closing the torc.

 

Trembling lips and fevered hands were on each other before the crowd finished dispersing, as they sunk on a large fur that had been left for them. That night they tasted heaven and they tasted home for the first time. The heaven of Clarke’s hungry mouth between Lexa’s legs. The heaven of Clarke shaking as she came on Lexa’s fingers. The heaven of rocking against each other’s wetness as they panted and licked into each other’s mouth, fangs sinking deeply into necks as they came to taste the other’s pleasure, feeling everything twofold. And the home of sleeping in each other’s arms for the first of millennia of nights together, finally reunited as one.

 

* * *

 

They stayed in the village another year for Clarke to complete her training.

Lexa loved seeing her go out into the surrounding mortal homesteads to treat them, having become one of the most gifted herbalists and healers of her clan. Lexa watched her amused when Clarke would huff in annoyance when her lessons ran too long or got bored with repeating so many chants, mostly because she was whip-smart and had long since memorized and mastered her teachings. Lexa would press her lips trying not to laugh when she would catch Clarke throwing heavy gazes in her direction full of heated promises from across the square while the _druí_ droned on, and would spring to her feet the second he ended, running to catch her hand and drag her off into the hills, to kiss her breathless and make her call her name with insistent, delicious fingers and a hot tongue. Lexa felt her soul full with utter joy and devastating love with this wild, funny, stubborn, feisty, beautiful creature that was hers.

Clarke spent her days sighing deeply with hearts in her eyes every time Lexa, with her brilliant mind and animated hands, got into deep discussion about anything and everything she found interesting. She felt her heart brim with tenderness to see how, despite her natural stoicism, Lexa was soft and compassionate always ready with a helping hand. How quietly thoughtful and fiercely loyal she was. How she concentrated her brow and clasped her hands behind her back to think, always offering wise and calm advice. How surprisingly witty she was with her own brand of dry humor, rare as it was. How she would kiss her to shut her up when Clarke got angry and went on little rants until Clarke smiled into the kiss. How delicate Lexa seemed on the surface but was an untamed, insatiable, ferocious lover who kept tearing her tunics apart to take her with delicious roughness when Clarke teased her for too long.

They learned each other every day. Every inch of the other’s body, every thought and memory on the other’s mind, and everything that made the other’s heart beat. They fell more in love than they ever thought was possible.

Lexa used her time that year to advance the plans she had proposed their Council, visiting the other clans nearby in that region of the island, telling them about the harrowing attacks their own clan had suffered from humans that had cost them her father, her mother’s sister and her aunt’s husband lives. So she set about fortifying their villages, training their people in defensive fighting against invasions or attacks, making hidden tunnels under their villages to retreat, and most of all, to start hiding all the immense possessions they had accumulated over several millennia. It had become a real problem. If they buried any more gold under the hills, tombs or villages, the ground would start sprouting them back up.

Her plan included moving their treasures out of their island and slowly transform them into lands in other corners of the world. They could scatter it that way, acquiring land randomly in other places so it wouldn’t seem conspicuous. It would lessen the danger of having it with them with so many coveting eyes around them. And it would give them many refuges where they could turn to if the need ever arose. They could feel things changing in the world around them and they had the foresight to prepare for it.

Once Clarke had her rite of passage, they finally left.

 

* * *

 

They took the rough sea route of the Atlantic and left their island and sailed all the way to the Levant, to Biruta, the capital of sea-faring Canaanites. _Phoenicians_ , they would be later called.

They had planned to only make it a quick stop on their way to the desert of the Nile, but they were too entranced by this colorful and magnificent vast port-city, the biggest of their known world. It stretched as far as the eye could see, bustling with life at every corner and street, the air thick with the aroma of spices and scented oil, and their ears filled with so many different languages from merchants from all across the sea. The Canaanites were beautiful creatures, with their olive skin and thick eyelashes and beards, their gorgeously patterned close-fitting tunics and conical caps, and mostly their adventurous spirit that had made them explore and trade with the farthest lands.

Lexa and Clarke were filled with wonder with this free lifestyle and hungered to see everything they could too. It made them decide to change their plans and instead acquire a small fleet of boats, one for them and two that would make frequent travels back to their lands, to safely move the riches of their clans and disperse them through trade. They spent their first years on the bow of a boat with sun-kissed skin and salty breeze on their hair, stopping at every port and large city of the Mediterranean to explore with wide, awed smiles like children that never tired of playing.

They visited the Akkadian Empire to marvel at the sea of barley fields being harvested, the largest agricultural endeavor they had yet seen. They traded their Celtic bronze for endless amounts of lapis lazuli mined by the Akkadians, for no other reason than Lexa insisting it was the closest blue that matched Clarke’s eyes. They traveled on horse to the temple of Sin at Ur to listen to a famed princess who people said told stories in the most beautiful form anyone had ever heard, almost song-like without singing, because Clarke had seen the gleam in Lexa’s eye when they heard about her in a tavern. Enheduanna, the first known author history would almost forget, delighted them and all the visitors with her poetry in a beautiful court with palms and fountains. She would tell them the tales of the greatest god of her people, Innana, the goddess of battle and love and justice, while they ate dried dates and marveled at the stories.

They stayed longer, learning from her how to transform words into writing for the first time, making little wedges in clay tablets in cuneiform writing, and learning Sumerian by default. Clarke ecstatically started writing down her extensive and growing herbal and medicinal knowledge, while Lexa recorded everything she could about the people and places they visited, so she could someday send them home and share all they had seen.

 

There Clarke learned all the ways Lexa’s eyes said _I love you_ without a word.

 

In Crete, they demurred, enjoying the dry template weather, pristine azure beaches and the lovely city of Knossos. They studied the intriguing people there who prayed to a goddess of the sun and sacrificed bulls, where the matriarchs reigned supreme and the men spent hours hitting each other with gloved hands for sport. They marveled at their golden skins always on display, the men wearing loincloths and kilts tied with thick leather belts and bare chests while the women wore flowing skirts and robes that covered only their shoulders, leaving their bountiful breasts uncovered. They wore beautifully braided hair adorned with golden beads, gold that Clarke and Lexa were only too happy to unload in exchange for saffron which they knew was in high demand at their next destination. They stayed there until they tired of eating grilled octopus and figs and frolicking in the sands.

 

There Lexa learned all the ways salt tasted on Clarke’s skin and drowned in the azure waters reflected in her eyes.

 

They sailed further west and the next years found them in El Argar in the southern coast of Iberia. It was a small port village. It was there they first met the first of their kind outside of home. A man named Ebro. He had established there with his companion, but their real goal was to unload their saffron cargo to all the surrounding villages, as it was prized as a dye for clothes and food alike. Enough that they could purchase sizable land further north, away from prying eyes, and make a settlement of their own, for any of their kind who chose to migrate to the warm Iberian lands. They spent a good amount of years there building the settlement and transporting more of the accumulated treasure of their clans to bury it there, because no matter what they did, their small fleet and trading ventures started to make a profit rather than help them get rid of their fortunes.

It was a pretty place, rocky and empty, filled with wild rabbits and small falcons that Clarke managed to hunt with unmistakable precision using her bow. She would make stew and take it to the neighboring village for the sick children and the old folk. It was the one thing Lexa never took part of. She loathed hunting. Killing animals, killing anything really, pained her. She’d pleaded with Clarke the very first time she’d witnessed it, when the blonde had caught a fish and she had left the fish flopping and gaping while she rummaged through her satchel for a knife, begging her to end its misery in all the gods name. When Clarke took a second too long, she’d finally tapped it with her foot back into the water, shuddering. Clarke kissed her the rest of the day in apology, more in love than ever with the impossibly kind heart of her wife and promised never to take her out hunting with her again. So Lexa focused on the actual building of the round, rock dwellings and planning the trade trips between their home island and the settlement.

It grew in a few years to around 50 pairs of their kind. When it was stable enough, they left, leaving the settlement in the hands of Ebro, but decades later they received word they had abandoned it. Hordes of settlers from the east had started flooding their previously safe haven, and so Ebro and his group decided to migrate northwest following a great river. Some even continued all the way to Lusitania. Millennia later Lexa would read in the papers a gold treasure had been found in a previously unknown Bronze Age settlement, the second largest in Europe they said, dubbed the Treasure of Villena. She’d chuckled, then smiled sadly, hit with so much pain at the memories she’d shared with Clarke there and the emptiness that now filled her.

 

There they had sworn to each other never to ascend and to love each other in every waking moment of their eternal lives together.

 

The next centuries found finally found them in the deserts along the fertile Nile river they had so longed to see, where they finally settled for a long haul among the most fascinating people they had yet encountered. A civilization almost as old then as their own kind it would seem at times. Builders, masters of knowledge, mystics, artists and rulers with a will so powerful they bended and shaped nature and the world around them to their own desires, erecting bewildering structures and temples amongst the unforgiving and ever-changing sands. Their cities sprawled wide and endless into the sunrise like mirages, glistening with vibrant pigments, gold and marble, and shimmering in the sunset when the rays ignited the waters of the crop irrigation canals that extended as far as the eye could see, along the rich muds of the delta.

They were beautiful people with golden perfumed skin, shaved of body hairs entirely save their eyebrows, as they believed it favored diseases, preferring to wear wigs of tight curls or thin braids. Bleached linen kilts and narrow robes were their simple clothes, but adorned with heavy, colorful jewelry on their necks and wrists and ankles. Their almond shaped eyes always outlined with khol and crushed green malachite dusted on their eyelids. When Lexa adopted the custom, the mesmerizing effect her eyes had on people and on Clarke was nearly hypnotic, and Clarke learned new ways to keep her in bed for hours longer. 

Lexa became a renowned astronomer, charting stars and constellations. Later, as her brilliant strategic mind yet calm and insightful wisdom was recognized, she became an invisible counsel to the Pharaohs, advising restraint and compromise where others advocated for revenge and war. _Blood must not always have blood,_ she would always intimate them.

Knowing of their predilection for religion, she would warn that the link between the Pharaohs with the gods would only be maintained if they served the people and not themselves. A good leader, she would tell them, was the one who would protect their people and not only their pride. A wise leader was one who would build their loyalty through prosperity and happiness, not poverty and fear, lest they see that loyalty turn against them at the first opportunity to overthrow them. A remembered leader was one who would elevate their people to elevate themselves, rather than elevate themselves through the exploitation of their people. _The people are the ones who hold the chisel to your inscription, who will wipe your name with one strike the moment after you’ve drawn your last breath_ , she would remind them.

 

Clarke, on the other hand, trained under the best of their healers at House of Life where physicians were educated, training first as a scribe so she could study the extensive papyri on medical and surgical treatments as well as the healing incantations to deities. She soon became a famed healer in her own right, adding to the extensive knowledge with what she had learned in other lands and travels. With the years, she became so revered, many said she could protect and cure the city from the plagues themselves. She also always caused quite the sight when the walked through the city with her wild blonde mane that she had kept intact, and an ever-present flurry of cats – both of cats she kept as well as strays she fed –, following her around everywhere she went.

They left Memphis after a few decades, thinking it too dangerous if people noticed they never aged. They would return after a while under other names. But then when the new Pharaoh sent for them in the small faraway village they had been residing at, they knew the people were far more observant than they gave them credit for and had seen through their ruse.

They returned, though now to the new capital, Thebes, among awed whispers of reverence. The myths surrounding them only grew when one day Clarke had let her desire get the best of her and she had pinned Lexa against a darkened alley with insistent hands under her tunic and fangs deep in her neck tasting Lexa’s pleasure in her blood. The people who stumbled upon them saw her bloodied fangs and this convinced them more than ever that they were otherworldly, immortal creatures. It became a custom wherever Clarke went afterwards, for people to offer her jugs of beer stained blood-red with pomegranate juice in an effort to appease her thirst lest she drink theirs.

It did nothing to change her place as the master of healers. Quite the opposite.

_Sekhmet Heh Mat_ , they called her, ‘The Power of the Infinite Lioness.’ Wife of _Rekht Hauhet_ , ‘The Wise Endlessness,’ the title the Pharaohs had bestowed on Lexa.

They stayed longer than they had anticipated and only left when the great Pharaoh Queen Hatshepsut died, the only one who had taken Lexa’s counsel to heart and had reigned through a long era of peace, trade and prosperity. She hadn’t been laid to rest more than a month in her magnificent tomb, before the kingdom rumbled with war and conflict again.

So they left, eager to roam again.

 

But there, they had mapped all the ways they would get back to each other if they were ever separated on the stars charts of Lexa’s study and in twinkling clear skies above.

 

The next centuries would see them in the Greek lands, where they had heard of wise people. The cities were beautiful, if much smaller than what they had seen in Egypt. They were filled with life and people celebrating multiple gods and goddesses with tempers and vices eerily similar to humans, yet still intriguing. They tried Athens for a while, where many of these wise ones were said to reside. They were indeed great, asking questions and musing about the meanings of life and the nature of men in ways few had yet done, more prone to rationality than religion. But despite the exciting birth of ideas taking place, it was the first time they encountered an overt antagonism against women among these supposedly wise men. This would soon trickle into their laws and women were relegated to the home, unworthy of holding property or having a voice in their _boule_ councils.

They left with a distasteful memory of it and traveled through many other cities hoping to find a more welcoming home. They nearly did in Sparta many years later, where both men and women were said to have the same rights, and they almost stayed. Men were completely occupied since birth until death in their men’s academies training to become the perfect warriors, with no contact with women and taking only lovers among the younger men. Once they graduated, they were supposed to marry but it was a perfunctory marriage, one only destined to transfer lands to the women who managed them and kept the economy of the city going, so they could focus on their warfare. Even the night of the wedding was an odd affair. The bride’s hair was cut short, put in men’s clothing and led to a dark room where the groom would sleep with her only once. They were forbidden to see each other for the next five years, the men then leaving for war or living at the men’s club where most preferred to stay afterwards, already attached to their male lovers and with no taste for a life on a farm, only war. Clarke and Lexa considered it, if only to hold properties, but then thought better, not wanting even the remote possibility of being beholden to anyone other than each other.

Instead they went south to the islands and found a home in the farthest of them all, revered for being the home of the most prized wine in the Mediterranean. It was an island with dramatic landscaped filled with olives and fruit, and more importantly, laws with no distinction of sex. It was there, in the beautiful hills of Lesbos, where they had some of their happiest times. They acquired lands near the Aegean sea and Lexa became a wine-maker. They shipped it back home in clay amphora they bought from Cyprus, knowing their people would love it. Their kind loved to drink anything with alcohol in it. It gave them a pleasant buzz without making them outright drunk, and so they could drink their weight in liquor. Clarke helped Lexa in the vineyard and tended their milk goats with which she made cheeses. In the evenings, she’d visit the villagers as a healer and a midwife. But mostly, they spent their time with each other out in the sun. Clarke’s soft golden locks billowing in the wind, chewing on a stem of wheat, her long skirt bunched up to her thighs, as she laughed at whatever silly story Lexa would be making up that day. The brunette would talk animatedly with her head on Clarke’s lap as she bit into ripe pears and smiled into the lazy kisses Clarke would press into her lips every chance she got.

 

There Clarke learnt all the ways her fingers could pull entire symphonies of moans from Lexa’s mouth and how nothing in this life was worth having without Lexa by her side.

There Lexa learned all sounds of Clarke’s laughter and how she could never live without the happiness they breathed into her heart.

 

And she would hear that laugh, a lifetime later in another land, when the word that gave their wine a far higher price for its provenance, became instead synonymous for the dalliances of the famed poet who resided in Lesbos with other women. It was also the first time they heard a name given to love between women as if it was somewhat different, since it was so common and normal at the time. Clarke claimed, through giggles that night centuries later, that her proudest achievement was to have once been a maker of lesbian wine.

But after years and years of happy and unworried life on the island, the rumbles from the west grew louder, with another more ominous name on the lips of many. That of a great power growing in the Latium peninsula.

Rome.

 

So they set it as their next destination, curious and increasingly anxious as they approached the sprawling city. It was huge and never-ending, beautiful in many ways with their high marbled temples and houses. They shared their Greek neighbors’ passion for baths and running water, which greatly pleased Lexa, but despite it, the city was dirty. It was impossible not to be with so many people about. Thousands amassed and cluttered the city’s roads with garbage, stalls, foul puddles of soiled water and a passing epidemic of typhoid, which thankfully they were immune to.

In the city, Lexa was unsettled and more worried than Clarke had ever seen her. She would lie at night staring at the ceiling, the moon light from their wide windows reflecting the concern in her eyes.

Rome was still a young, fledgling Republic, far from the almighty Empire it would one day become, but Lexa could feel it in the air. Its rapacious ambition, its unquenchable appetite for conquest and its illusions of grandeur as the heroes of history.

“They will devour the world. They will swallow everything and our home with it, if nobody stops them,” was her somber premonition that sleepless night.

And so that night, they started to form a plan. Unknowingly, it would also set in motion a series of events with catastrophic consequences for them.

 

But there that night, Clarke promised to herself she would kiss away every furrowed brow, every tear, every trace of anguish from Lexa’s mind till the end of her days, as nothing was more distressing to her than seeing her _leannán_ in pain.

 

And Clarke would keep her promise until the last spark of life drained from her body, repeating over and over to comfort and to reassure Lexa, over her desperate screams and devastating wails from where she was chained:

“I’ll come back to you… I’ll come back to you…”

 

* * *

 

“You’ve seen it before?”

“Yes.”

“How is that possible? It’s extremely rare.”

“I’ve lived a very long time,” came the evasive answer.

“So you want to turn me? Make me a… one of you?”

“Yes.”

“Why? Why me?”

“You’re dying.”

“You said. You’re also deflecting. Why?”

The brunette tensed her jaw and didn’t answer immediately.

“I don’t know. I can’t even explain it.”

“Explain what?”

“You!” the vampire exclaimed with some agitation. “How _you_ are possible!”

The blonde scrunched her eyebrows confused. “Me?! Shouldn’t I be the one asking that? You’re the vampire!”

Only silence followed.

Lexa had turned her back and stared at the fire.

“Am I really a stranger to you?” she asked in a thin, broken voice, a moment later.

The blonde felt her chest constrict at the sadness in it.

The truth was that she didn’t. She didn’t feel like a stranger to her. From the moment their eyes met at the ball, she had felt a sense of overwhelming joy, of relief, of inexplicable need to cling to her and never let her go. A sense of familiarity tugged at her brain every second she spent with her, but she couldn’t explain any of it.

She stepped close and tugged at her elbow to turn her around.

When the vampire did, her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. A lump squeezed her throat, her own eyes starting to water. She couldn’t bear to see her like this. To have caused her such sadness. She was more confused than ever, but all she could think of was to comfort her.

She brought a hand to her cheek, her thumb brushing off a single tear that had trickled out and cupped it tenderly.

“No. You aren’t. But I don’t know why,” she whispered sincerely, feeling her heart melt at how the brunette closed her eyes and pressed her cheek into her palm.

The urge to lean in and kiss those lips, to soothe their sadness, to taste and lose herself in them was all-powerful. Before she could, the vampire opened her eyes again. She needed to step back. To focus. To keep her mind clear if she was ever going to understand what was happening.

“If I were to say yes, what… how… how would it happen?”

The vampire blinked, the moment of intimacy broken.

“I mean, you bit me and I didn’t turn, so I’m guessing that’s not how. Do I have to, you know, drink your blood?” the blonde continued, dropping her hand from Lexa’s face and shoving both in her back pockets, walking around the room.

“It’s a bit more complicated than that, but we can’t turn humans. That’s not possible.”

“Wait, I thought you said –”

“Sometimes,” the vampire interrupted, “though it is very rare, a child would be born… different. In extremely rare instances, some humans near our first villages seemed to have carried the mutation in their recessive genes. In the unlikely chance that two people with it met and had a child, there was a small chance they could pass it down to the child.”

“So they were born a vampire from human parents?” she asked confused.

“No, they weren’t human, but also not one of our kind completely. The mutation would stay dormant, not fully activated. The child couldn’t feed like one of us and did not have our regeneration abilities, but it couldn’t survive with the mother’s milk either and died if nothing was done. People used to call these children _Changelings_.”

The blonde felt her heart jump, every word resonating.

“Our elders could sense their birth through scent and they would go to the human villages and offer to help them. At first, they turned the child and left them with their mothers, not wanting to separate them. Our kind does not like to cause pain,” the brunette explained. “But when the parents saw their child had changed, grew fangs, everything, they would reject it. Harm it. Sometimes tried to kill it. We couldn’t… not intervene.”

“So you took the children?”

“Sometimes. When pleading with the parents didn’t help. Some women knew there was nothing they could do and would leave their child in the forest… for the –”

“For the faeries…” the blonde breathed out, realization hitting her. She had read about the myths in books she had loved as a child. The sick babies left in the forest for the faeries, so they could be cured and go live with them. Other women who would accuse the fairies of having taken their child and returned a different one, a faerie child.

“Yes,” the vampire nodded.

That was one of the reasons relations with the humans had soured. They had gone from being regarded as benevolent god-like creatures, to more mysterious and sometimes feared beings. Faeries. Then the attacks had come.

 

“But how did you turn them?”

“The mutation needed to be triggered the same way it had when the first of our kind came to be,” Lexa said slowly. “Near death.”

The blonde gasped.

“How? How would they…” she trailed off, swallowing.

“They would drain the child until an inch of their life to trigger the change.”

There was a long silence.

“Self-preservation activated the gene?”

Lexa acquiesced.

“You offered to turn me. You said humans couldn’t be turned. So are you saying… that I… that I’m a…?” the blonde felt her heart-racing, her throat too tight to finish the phrase. It all fit. It’s the only thing that made sense.

“A changeling?” the vampire asked calmly.

Before the blonde could even nod, she simply replied to her own question. “Yes.”

She felt all the air leave her lungs. Her head swam. It couldn’t possibly be but at the same time she knew it was true. She paced around the room, wringing her hands, feeling like her breath was getting harder to get into her lungs.

“Hey,” Lexa said softly. She grabbed her arms gently to stop her from spiraling. “Hey,” she said again, making her look at her. She immediately felt herself relax when she plunged into those beautiful kind green eyes. “It’s okay.”

The young woman let out a breath and slumped her shoulders.

“I can’t believe this. How is this possible? I can’t…”

“I think you should rest. Maybe it’s enough for tonight.”

“No!” came the determined reply. “Please, just… I need to know. I need to know everything.”

Lexa nodded with her eyes and led her to the chair again, putting the broth in her hands once more. She sat opposite her.

“Would you have to do that to me to… to you know?” she asked unsure.

She would be lying if the thought didn’t scare her out of her mind. She was a doctor. She had seen exsanguinated bodies before. She knew how easily and quickly a person would die just losing less than half their blood.

The vampire shook her head sadly.

“Changelings can only be turned as newborns, when their bodies are still in flux and they are susceptible to the change. You are fully grown,” she swallowed.

The blonde felt a punch of disappointment to her stomach. She realized she had unwillingly started to hope. Desperately so.

 

“Someone should have come when you were born. Someone should have caught your scent. I don’t understand how no one did. There are several of our kind in this city. I’m so sorry you had to suffer so much,” she said with eyes full of regret and sorrow.

“I was in a bubble,” she whispered to herself, understanding dawning on her, remembering the section of the house she’d lived in sealed off in plastic and air pumps. No one could’ve caught her scent like that.

“So I can’t be turned. It’s too late,” she added more firmly, willing her voice not to break. “I am a lost cause.”

“I didn’t say that. It _is_ a miracle you are still alive. Usually changelings don’t last past infancy. No one has ever made it this long. But that doesn’t mean there isn’t another way.”

“What then?”

“You would have to… we would have to…” the vampire demurred, suddenly seeming nervous. She got up from the chair and opened her mouth but promptly closed it again.

“What? Tell me please.”

“You would have to… bear a child. A child of our kind.”

“What?!” the blonde exclaimed in shock, that being the last thing she would have imagined.

“I would have to… get pregnant? By a… ?”

Lexa nodded with worried, apologetic eyes.

“We cannot breed with humans. Only one of our kind can carry one of our children. It is believed the change can be triggered in a grown changeling by pregnancy so its body can have the child.”

“Believed?!”

“There is only one known case. A girl was found when it was too late for her to be turned. The elder who found her fed the girl her blood to keep her alive until she was old enough to bear a child. The girl chose to. The elder had already been preparing to ascend, so she did her the favor of making a child with her.”

“Wait, what?” the blonde shook her head confused. “Ascend? She? How could she get her pregnant if she was a woman too?”

“Humans reproduce to perpetuate the species _because_ they are mortal, because they die. All mortal species do. When you are immortal, that imperative, that need…”

“Doesn’t exist,” the blonde finished, understanding. “So?”

“So we normally don’t. We normally can’t. Only when we are about to die do we become… fertile, so to speak.”

“I’m getting more confused. It still doesn’t explain everything else.”

“We don’t reproduce the same way humans do but through our blood. When our bodies think we are dying, our blood produces our… flame, our essence to pass on, in an attempt to leave a replacement of sorts. It’s the only time we can. When one of us decides to ascend, to die by choice, their companion or someone else might choose to take their blood as they are dying and become pregnant. That’s what that elder did.”

“No.” It was a resolute sound that came from the blonde’s mouth. Immediate and angry. “No.”

“Wait.”

“No. Are you saying you have to die so I can live?! That’s what this is all about? You want to kill yourself and… and what? You think I’m just gonna sit there and watch you die?” she spat.

She didn’t understand why she was so irrationally angry. She had gotten up from the chair and was pacing the room, gesticulating. She barely knew the vampire but the thought alone of seeing her die made her want to throw up and scream.

“Wait.”

“How are you so calm about this?!” she continued angrily.

“It’s not what I meant –”

“And then what? I’ll be left alone without you. What am I supposed to –”

Her rant was stopped mid-sentence when a pair of lips crashed against hers and arms brought her tightly against the other woman’s body.

The moment those lips were on her, all her thoughts melted away. She scrunched her eyebrows and brought her own hands to grab the vampire’s face roughly, bringing it even closer, desperately kissing her, deepening it, the anger morphing into need.

The vampire broke the kiss, panting harshly, shiny eyes and a hint of smile.

“Sorry,” she breathed heavily, “I needed you to stop for a second.” She didn’t let go and kept her tightly in her embrace.

“I’m sorry too, Alexandria,” the blonde apologized for having lost her temper.

The brunette shook her head.

“Lexa,” she whispered softly. “My real name is Lexa.”

“Clarke. Mine is Clarke,” the blonde answered just as quietly.

The vampire smiled with wet emotion in her eyes.

“ _Klark_ ,” she pronounced with beautiful clicking k’s.

It made everything in Clarke shudder, an indescribably sense of déjà vu flooding her. Everything about Lexa did.

 

She frowned and repeated ‘Lexa’ under her breath as if trying to solve a puzzle, the powerful feeling she had heard that name before but couldn’t for the life of her remember where.

“ _Klark_ , I don’t want to die. I don’t need to die, just be close enough to dying, so you can take my blood, take my flame and live. Change. I would never…I would never leave you,” Lexa whispered, tears falling.

Lexa didn’t understand how anything of this was happening. This woman looked exactly like her Clarke, smelled like her Clarke, tasted like her Clarke, was undoubtedly and unequivocally her Clarke. Her Clarke that had died before her own eyes. But she was also a mortal. Young. Recently born just over two decades ago. A changeling. It defied reason and everything she knew. She wanted to weep with joy, but also with fear it was just a dream. She wanted to hold on to her and never let go.

“Don’t cry. I can’t bear to see you cry,” Clarke whispered, her own eyes tearing, pressing a tender kiss on her lips again.

Maybe she was losing her mind, but she felt such an intense affection for Lexa. She was drawn to her in such a visceral and absolute way. It was like devastating force calling to her. Like she had felt those lips and hands and eyes and voice in dreams. The thought of Lexa dying, leaving her, had anguished her unbearably. She kissed her again, this time pressing harder, moaning when she felt Lexa part her lips and deepening it, digging her fingers into her hips to bring her closer. They breathed and sighed into each other’s mouth, trembling, hungry, confused, elated.

“Yes,” Clarke breathed out slowly in a ragged whispered voice between a kiss.

Lexa looked at her with knitted brows, unsure what she was saying.

Clarke looked at her with certain eyes. It was an answer to Lexa’s proposal.

 

“Yes.”


End file.
